


Yom Kippur

by QueenRiley



Category: Power Rangers SPD
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRiley/pseuds/QueenRiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bridge celebrates Yom Kippur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yom Kippur

Bridge was in a hurry. He was already pushing it on time. His mother was waiting for him, promising to hold a seat for him. He had his ticket tucked in his pocket and he didn't want to risk being late. They'd lock the doors half an hour in. He couldn't dare be left outside.

He tucked his shirt into his pants and then hooked his belt. He did up his loose tie and checked himself in the mirror. Yes, that would do nicely. He pulled on a pair of white silk gloves, tossing his usual leather in a drawer, just as the alarm blared. The timing was horrible, but he should have expected it. He cursed under his breath and ran down the hall, nearly colliding with the others. They were all in uniform and hadn't expected to see him so dressed up.

Nobody asked about his outfit, but he knew they wanted to. He could feel the curiosity emanating off of them in waves. Kat, knowing he was in a hurry, sent them on their way with minimal instructions. She updated them as they morphed and drove off. On a private channel, she wished him luck in getting it taken care of quickly. She knew he had somewhere to be.

Sure enough, Jack was expedient. They managed to corner, judge, and arrest the monster in record time. They hadn't even needed to call out the zords. They demorphed and Jack walked over to pick up the card. Bridge did a cursory feel to make sure everything was still in place. Yes, his tie was still done, his ticket was in his pocket, and his kippah was still firmly clipped on his head. He checked the sun in the sky. It was almost sunset. He'd have to really hurry now. He turned and ran.

"Bridge!" Z called after him. He skidded to a halt.

"Tell Cruger I'm sorry, but I have to be there before Kol Nidre!" he yelled, taking tentative steps away as he spoke. He didn't give them a chance to ask questions. He just took off, feet pounding the pavement.

He made it just in time, one of the last few stragglers running for the door before they closed and locked it. He handed over his ticket and walked right through the big double doors into the sanctuary. He looked around and spotted his mother almost instantly. Even with his gloves, he could see her aura, bright yellow in a sea of muted colours. He slid into his seat just as the cantor began to chant.

As the deep tenor of the cantor's voice washed over him, he leaned forward in his seat and covered his face with his hands. He inhaled deeply and focused on the cantor's voice. If he concentrated hard enough, he could block out the background noise, the dull colours and flashes from the people around him. If he really focused, all he could hear, all he could see, was the melody of the Hebrew prayer.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stayed with his mother that night. Cruger knew where to find him if he was needed, but he also knew not to call him unless it was necessary. There were maybe two or three times a year Bridge went to shul and on this, the holiest of holy days, he wasn't going to miss it unless the city was actually being destroyed.

He hadn't explained it to the others and he was feeling vaguely guilty about that. Or maybe he was just feeling guilty in general. Yom Kippur had that effect. He knew Sky and Syd were used to it. They'd been through the academy with him for years now and he'd run off, begging off duty, every single year at around the same time. They may not understand why he disappeared, but they were used to him going by now. Jack and Z, though. They didn't know. He should have told them. One more thing to apologize for later, he told himself.

True to word, he didn't hear a thing from Cruger all day. He sat through morning services, doing his best to block out the others in the sanctuary. When they became too much, he'd make his way to the family room. Sure it was loud with babies and small children screaming at their mother's, but he could still hear the Rabbi over the loudspeaker and there were less people to contend with. He'd take a crying baby over emotional feedback from a thousand people crammed in a small space any day.

They broke in the early afternoon; most people heading home for a brief nap or quiet family time. Bridge instead left his mother with a kiss on the cheek and sought out the dark quiet of the synagogue library. He was starving and knew if he followed her home, he'd be tempted to eat. Staying at the synagogue ensured he would make it through the fast. He thumbed the spines of the books, using his rusty knowledge of Hebrew to read some of the titles. Every year he vowed to attend services more often and every year he broke that promise. He didn't even really believe in Hashem, not like he did as a child, but there was something soothing, calming to his nerves and mind, about the Hebrew chanted week after week within these walls.

He'd been basking in the silence for over an hour when Rabbi Gordon came in. He didn't say anything at first, just stood and watched. Bridge rubbed his temples. The emotional background noise he constantly absorbed was always so much harder to control when he was hungry, and the Rabbi was giving off waves of anticipation.

"It's good to see you again, Bridge," he said. Bridge opened his eyes and blinked until they adjusted, mentally tuning out the aura surrounding the Rabbi.

"You too, Rabbi Gordon. Having an easy fast?" he asked out of habit. The Rabbi chuckled.

"It's never easy, Bridge, but we manage, we manage." Bridge hummed in agreement, letting his head fall back against the chair. The Rabbi wandered the small library for a minute before turning back to Bridge. "I remember when you were a little boy. I used to have to bring you in here to teach you. The Sunday school teachers couldn't handle you and you said my office had too many memory people in it." Bridge chuckled.

"You're a popular Rabbi. People leave traces. It hurt, before I knew how to make it… not." The Rabbi smiled. He may not have completely understood Bridge, and maybe he'd been frustrated a lot, but he'd never given up. He'd carried him right through his bar mitzvah and then, like so many before him, Bridge gave up in exhaustion.

"You liked it in here then. Good to know you like it still."

"It's peaceful. The words can surround me and I can feel what they mean and know it's just my feelings, not anybody else's. Nobody ever comes in here. It's just me and the languages." Bridge waved his gloved hand. The Rabbi smiled and nodded before turning to walk back out the door. He placed a gentle hand on Bridge's shoulder.

"You're always welcome to find your peace here, should you choose to." He walked out the door and left Bridge in thought. After a few minutes, he rose to follow the Rabbi. It was almost time for afternoon services and then Neilah.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a tearful Avinu Malkeinu, and the overwhelmingly loud blast from the shofar, Bridge and his mother walked home. The synagogue was abuzz with people for the break the fast meal, but Bridge couldn't handle being surrounded by that many people any longer. His mother promised him a good meal at home. With the shofar blast still echoing in his ears, he wiped the tear streaks off his face and followed behind his mother, just as they'd done when he was young.

He was surprised to see all the lights on in the little house he'd grown up in. His mother opened the front door with a cunning smile on her face and he was nearly bowled over with the smell of roast brisket. He knew she hadn't had time to get it cooking during morning services and if she'd waited to put it on until the break between morning and afternoon, there was no way it would be done now. Besides, she was even less likely to break the rules against working than he was.

"Mama?" he asked. She didn't reply, but instead pushed him through the living room and into the dining room. The table was set and absolutely groaning with food. Syd and Sky were at the table chatting and Jack was leaning over it, setting up a bagel station with cream cheese, lox, and sliced red onion. When Z came out of the kitchen with a large bowl of green beans in her hand and an apron tied around her waist, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Your friends wanted to help." His mother told him, patting him on the shoulder. Z put down the beans, took off the apron, and looked at his mother briefly.

"G'mar chatima tova!" she said. The Hebrew was a little awkward, but he could tell she'd practiced. It had been a long day, he was famished, and all his senses were being assaulted by the love just rolling off every single person in his house. Tears sprang to his eyes again. He stepped forward and shocked everyone by wrapping Z in a tight hug. He picked her up and spun her in a circle, laughing as she clutched at him. He whispered a quiet thank you in her ear as he set her down.

"Can we eat now? We've been here for hours." Sky asked, but there was no malice. He was smiling softly.

"God yes, I'm starving!" Bridge exclaimed. He pulled out a chair for his mother and then sat down, attacking the food with gusto. There was even a plate of buttery toast, just for him.


End file.
